


It's Christmastime in Denmark Street (Drabble Collection)

by cbstrike



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Christmas, Drabble Collection, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:01:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 9,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27817216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cbstrike/pseuds/cbstrike
Summary: December of 2014 was particularly eventful for Cormoran Strike and Robin Ellacott. What makes it so eventful? Frankly, dear reader, your guess is as good as mine. But we'll find out together through a series of consecutive 500-word drabbles.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 75
Kudos: 101





	1. December 1st, mid-morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [hidetheteaspoons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814402/chapters/68095201) for her awesome list of prompts!

> **‘I hope you’re happy this holiday! x’**

Robin blinked at the words on her computer screen, fading slowly back to the image of a perfect-looking young family with bright smiles and matching red and green jumpers, a newborn propped up, wearing a Santa onesie.

She clicked the email because it looked innocuous enough at the top of her inbox. From a ‘Sarah C.’ it said with a ‘Happy Holidays’ on the subject line.

It might be an accident, Robin thought, seeing that Sarah didn’t bother with BCCs and she could see she had received this very early, festive greeting along with 283 other emails. But she knew Sarah Shad— _Cunliffe_ —well. Knew that this was as orchestrated and calculated as leaving a diamond earring on her marital bed.

Two hundred eighty four people may have received this, but Robin knew it was only for her.

She watched the pretty family on her screen, so perfect and picturesque they looked like stock models. It was almost surreal to Robin to stare at Matthew’s face, recognisable only in the most superficial of ways to her now. This man she grew up with, and loved, and married, now to her a stranger.

“Robin,” Pat’s rasping voice shook her from her stupor. “Nutter’s here, finally.”

She knew Pat meant Barclay finally arrived and they can finally start their monthly agency meeting.

“Coming!” Robin called out, shutting her laptop lid and hurriedly gathering loose leaves strewn about the partners table.

She leaned against the doorframe awhile, looking at the people she worked with, still milling about. Sam was half sat on Pat’s desk, to the secretary’s great consternation, ineffectually trying to push his arse off the pile of mail she needed to sort. Michelle was by the window, quizzically trying to untangle their yet-again tangled up blinds. Andy and Cormoran on the couch, in low voices, looking serious and talking about one of their cases.

The walls were looking a little grubby, poor insulation letting in a cold draft, but she found all the little details of her life now beautiful and real in such a profound way, she wanted to laugh at Sarah. Laugh because Matthew and his mistress had no idea how she had no interest, no envy for their manufactured happiness. She pitied them, in fact, pitied that their joy was inextricable from other people’s perceptions of them.

She took in the sight before her, feeling proud of her career that was hard-won, feeling grateful to work alongside kindred spirits whose passion for the job burned within them as it did her. She chanced a look at every single one of her co-workers, eyes landing on Cormoran last. She caught his eye and he looked at her from across the room a little bewildered to find her just standing by the doorway.

She held his gaze and watched his expression soften to a grin before giving her a wink. She beamed.

 _Yes I am happy, Sarah_ , she thought. _More than you know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: "“Prove it."


	2. December 2nd, almost midnight

“Prove it, Bluey.” dared Charlotte, standing up from his dining chair, leaning against his serviceable table. She was in a beige trenchcoat and Cormoran knew she would be naked underneath. This isn’t the first time Charlotte has done this, but this is the first time he hadn’t wanted it. “Prove it’s no longer true.”

“Get out of my house, Charlotte.” he said, jaws clenched as he stared at Charlotte’s stunning, haughty face, staring her down even as he saw her slowly pulling at the belt of her coat as she unwrapped it, shaking it off her shoulder and cascading down her nude form.

She walked up to Cormoran, who had stopped at his front door upon finding her in his house. He should’ve known. He should’ve known this would happen, but he hadn’t realised what the date was all day. Not until now, nearing midnight, so close to it being over.

“Do you remember?” Charlotte asked, walking slowly to him, naked and no doubt perfect, like a panther stalking her prey. “Twenty years ago, do you remember what you told me?”

He did. He did remember. He remembered how he had told her for the first time after a year of sex and fighting and being young and feeling lost that he had told her things he’d never told any other woman he’s ever been with before.

She was right up him now, and he could feel her flush against him, long soft fingers gently tracing his chest. He could feel her hot breath against his sternum, smell Shalimar in the air.

“You told me you loved me.” she whispered.

He felt her nose ghost against his chin.

“Go home, Charlotte.” he whispered back, speaking slowly, not wanting to exhale the breath he was holding and have his body expand even closer to her still. “Go back to your husband and your children.”

“I left him, Bluey.”

He wished he had better control of his body, willing it not to react to the soft way he could feel the tip of Charlotte’s fingers brushing against his chest. He had allowed her to know him best, know him unlike anyone has ever known him.

“I’ll make you happy.” she vowed, nose gently nipping and his head reacted on instinct, feeling as though he’s exposed his neck to a vampire.

It was getting harder and harder to resist, the Shalimar intoxicating, Charlotte’s unabated desire for him arousing. It would be so easy, he thought. So easy to grab her, push her against the wall, fuck her hard and fast like he knew she liked, the way he, himself liked.

“I can change, Bluey.” she whispered, lied, lips lightly pressing to stubble. And he could feel the ghost of a smile on Charlotte’s exquisite face because he had let her just then. He had let her touch him.

He could feel her fingers now at his waist, his belt buckle. Head now bowing down to gaze at the perfection he admits he missed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: “I’m not doing this.”


	3. December 3rd, before dawn

“I’m not doing this.” he shook his head, hands closing around Charlotte’s wrists, pulling them away from his waist. She tried to twist her arms away as Cormoran nearly dragged her back near where she had discarded her coat, using one hand to hold both slender wrists as he bent to pick up her clothes, bracing himself for Charlotte to start kicking.

“No, Bluey, please! Please!” Charlotte begged as he wrestled her back into her coat, thinking again how far he’s come, how long he’s resisted her only to relapse. He thought of his mother, unable to resist the pull of drugs that would eventually kill her.

Maybe he’s an addict, he thought confusedly, still trying to wrangle Charlotte’s flailing limbs trying to grip onto him. Crying, pleading for him not to throw her out. He doesn’t know if he’s saying anything back, but the kind of racket she was making was enough to wake the whole street.

“I’ll kill myself!” Charlotte promised as Cormoran shoved her inside her Lexus. “Bluey, I’m going to kill myself without you!”

“But if we do this again, Charlotte, you’ll kill us both.”

He walked away, not going back up his flat, not caring what Charlotte will do next. Not even if she runs him over. He wanted to get away, wanted to see Robin’s face, hear Robin’s voice, smell Narciso on her. Scrub himself of the ghost of Charlotte’s touch, Charlotte’s body that imprinted on him tonight.

“Wh—Cormoran! Is everything alright?” 

Max was stunned to find Cormoran on his stoop, reeking of alcohol, looking as though he could barely walk.

“I’d—I’d like ter see Rob’n, please.” he said thickly, blinking at him as though finding it hard to focus on what he was looking at.

Max stepped out, closing his front door behind him, arms folded as though standing guard, glad he only just arrived and his flatmate didn’t have to deal with this drunk idiot alone at this hour.

“It’s two in the morning. She’s asleep.”

Cormoran looked at him, and Max didn’t know him well enough to gauge his reaction. But he reckoned he could take him. Cormoran was taller, though not by much. Bigger in the midsection, but he’d been working with a trainer for his tv show. Sure the man was a veteran ex-boxer and he was an actor with a bad heart, but he’s sober and Cormoran looked very drunk.

“Go home, Cormoran.” he told the man, and then added. “Whatever this is, don’t sort it out here.”

Cormoran slumped, turning to head away.

“Wait!” Max stopped him, seeing his gait, thinking he’d probably pass out on the side of the road without assistance.

He coaxed him to his car, deciding to drive him home. “Want to talk about it?”

Cormoran was only drunkenly leaning against his door, looking out at London. But Max did get a thank you when he finally arrived at Denmark Street. He watched, wincing, as Cormoran heaved himself up his stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: “Do you regret it?”


	4. December 4th, early afternoon

“Do you regret it?” Robin asked with a smirk as she pulled out of parking.

“What?” Cormoran asked thickly. He still looked terrible, closing his eyes and eyebrows knotted. “You mean drinking so much I’m still hung over two days on?” he groaned. “Don’t grow old, Robin. It’s a bastard.”

Robin laughed. “You know, it might not be a hangover.” she suggested. “Maybe you need glasses.”

Robin privately thought he _definitely_ needed glasses, the way he would squint at case files in front of her while they worked.

Cormoran just let out a low groan.

Neither of them spoke for awhile, Robin driving them both back into London after interviewing a person of interest with one of their cases. Her mind was idly brainstorming how to get Cormoran to the eye doctor. Thinking that friends can tell friends they might need to get glasses, right? Perfectly platonic—

“Charlotte dropped by my flat the other night.”

“Oh.” said Robin, feeling her stomach drop and also somehow feeling a bit like she wanted to vomit, suddenly anxious. It was a while before she asked, “How do you feel about her? I mean—” _Shit. Shit._ “—about that?”

She could feel his eyes on her and she hoped she wasn’t blushing.

She heard Cormoran sigh, but was surprised with what he said next. “If she contacts you in any way, will you tell me?”

For a split second she wondered why on earth Charlotte Campbell will contact her, but then the self-aware part of her admitted it wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility. So she nodded.

“Wish she’d bloody leave me alone.” he said. “Worried she’ll do herself an injury.”

“What did you do?”

“Threw her out and buggered off to the pub.”

“I’m sorry.” said Robin, not really sure what else to say.

“Why? She’s not your fault.” he dead-panned.

She smiled. Matthew seemed too preoccupied to bother with her at all, and she’s impervious to Sarah’s taunts, while Cormoran seemed to be highly affected every time Charlotte came near him. So she _is_ sorry for the grief it seems to cause him.

She wondered how she could make it better. She wanted to make him feel better.

“What do you want for lunch?” she asked and saw his spirits lift immediately at even just the suggestion of food. She laughed.

They ended up having burgers al fresco at a pub in Southwark. It was a bit too cold to be outside, but the pub was full and they were hungry. She was perfectly comfortable, though, sitting a little too close to Cormoran than she ordinarily would’ve done.

“Give this a taste,” she offered, bringing her burger up to his mouth and he took a bite.

“That’s good!” he said excitedly. “Good choice.”

“Yeah?” Robin grinned. “It’s a veggie burger.”

Cormoran snorted. “You’re pulling my leg!”

They both laughed, somehow thinking it very funny that Cormoran made a leg joke.

There was mustard on his lip. No thought, she kissed it off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're cooking with gas!
> 
> Up next: “Why are you up so early?”


	5. December 5th, before sunrise

“Why are you up so early?”

Robin turned around to see Max walk up the stairs.

“Hiya! Want breakfast?” Robin asked, feeling intensely cheerful about everything. Giddy, Christmasy, flipping banana pancakes.

“Or have you not slept yet?” Max added.

“No, just woke up early. How was filming?”

“Love scene with a perfectly nice lady. I expect a BAFTA for my creditable performance of liking it.”

Robin laughed, plating him pancakes.

“Why are you so cheerful?”

Robin looked like she was bursting at the seams to say something. She hasn’t yet told anyone. Other than Cormoran and Pat, the only person she’d seen since yesterday was Max. Obviously, telling their secretary was out of the question, but she realised that she did want to tell somebody. Everybody.

She even told Wolfgang, who seemed very excited as he frantically wagged his tail at her exciting news.

“I kissed him!” she blurted, feeling like she was going to explode with happiness.

Max seemed to choke into his pancake. “Thats… that’s nice.”

She felt a little deflated. She’d been used to everyone in their life elbowing them to finally get together that she was fully expecting him to also share in her giddy, romantic excitement; forgetting that Max’s respectful disinterest in whether or not Robin and Cormoran will finally get together was something she liked about him.

“What?” she asked, because he looked concerned.

He shook his head. “Nothing. He seems to like you a lot.”

This made Robin smile. She reckoned as much, obviously, but it’s thrilling to hear it from others. That Cormoran liked her enough that it was obvious to other people too.

She expected him to want to ask for details, but Max seemed knackered and excused himself to head to bed.

So she went to the office, early even for her, packing some of her pancakes in a Tupperware to give to her… she isn’t sure now. Partner still, certainly. Boyfriend? Too early. Paramour? Too weird. Lover? She blushed at ‘lover’. Not _yet_ …

She wasn’t sure if she ought to go up to his flat, considering that she was definitely not _there_ yet, in the aftermath of their first few kisses. But there were sounds coming from the office and she felt again giddy that she was seconds away from seeing him, brain swimming with the prospect of more kissing.

“Hi, Robin.”

Robin gasped, startled, dropping her Tupperware of pancakes on the floor. Breathing through the onslaught of panic rising up at having been caught unawares by a voice from behind she wasn’t expecting.

“Are you alright?”

She felt a hand on her shoulder. Light, unsure, gentle.

“Sorry to have startled you.”

Robin swallowed lungfuls of air. “How—how did you get in?” She looked up finally, staggered not by the ethereal physical beauty she knew Charlotte Campbell possessed, but by the intense bruising on her left eye, purple and angry and swollen shut.

“Oh my god!” Robin exclaimed, eyes wide and staring her face. “What happened to you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so funny because I didn’t even plan on a plot. How does this have a plot??
> 
> Up Next: “Again?”


	6. December 6th, late afternoon

“Again?” Cormoran asked almost petulantly, even though he knew this was standard. He sighed, recounting again what he did early December 3rd, lamenting the many other things he wished he was doing that Saturday than repeat himself: he had gone home near midnight of the 2nd, found Charlotte had broken into his flat—“No, I was not angry enough to fucking hit her!”—talked to her for fifteen minutes, made her get back into her car before heading off to the pub.

The barkeep of The Tottenham corroborated his story that he drank alone until near 2am, that upon Cormoran’s insistence, the bartender called a cab that will take Cormoran to Earl’s Court. The taxi cab and Max also supported this, giving him a solid alibi for the window they were looking at.

Charlotte had been pried off her car then punched in the face, before the culprit sped away with her Lexus and her purse. She was lucky to only have been punched, because as she and him and everyone who knows what happened to her—the entirety of London for Charlotte Campbell is news—now know that she was naked underneath that trenchcoat.

DI Layborn, who was taking his statement, didn’t really think he had anything to do with it. But Cormoran knew he was being thorough because this was the precious daughter of an aristocratic family, the wife of a Viscount.

He met his friends at the pub right after, feeling lighthearted at his first sight of Robin that day. She smiled at him and he felt reassured that things are going to be alright.

Last Thursday seemed a world away, suspecting they were currently on a pause. Yesterday had been chaos, today not really any better. But he sat next to her and felt her deliberately lean her shoulder against his a fraction and thought maybe he might not be in the doghouse at all.

God he wanted to kiss her. Wanted to fastforward this and take her out to dinner. Talk about things that aren't Charlotte.

“She fucking did it! Did it herself, on purpose!” Ilsa was saying, convinced in her belief, angrier than him. “Remember the incident with the blood-stained note? This is _so_ like that!”

The moment Nick and Ilsa left, Robin twisted her body and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tight. He hugged her back, just holding her, thinking whatever else is happening, this was also happening.

She pulled away only to kiss him. Gentle fingers on his cheek, eyes roaming around his face looking worried. “Are you alright?”

And because it was Robin who asked, and only Robin there to listen to him, he was finally honest. “Been better.”

Well into the afternoon, more sober than drunk, Cormoran told Robin about Charlotte. That he feels plagued by her, haunted by their history together.

Robin only listened, only held his hand, only kissed his face. And that’s when he knew that this was it. She was _it_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: “We could get arrested for this.”


	7. December 7th, evening

_“We could get arrested for this,”_ said the Max on the television and Robin let out a dirty cackle before shovelling a fistful of popcorn to her mouth.

“Oi!” said Max in real life, playfully pelting Robin with popcorn from his perch on the perpendicular loveseat. “It’s meant to be a prestigious drama, why are you laughing?”

Robin was giggling, thoroughly enjoying herself, half leaning against Cormoran who had his thick arm on the back rest behind her.

“I’m sorry,” she cooed, apologetically. “You really are very good, but the writing here is a bit—”

“Oh, are you moonlighting as a tv critic now as well?”

Robin cackled, Cormoran chuckling every time she did so. He never knew Robin could be this playful, relaxed. He wanted to take her out that night, but she and Max had a standing arrangement of watching his tv show every Sunday and she didn’t want to ditch her friend for a date. But he had been invited to stay, and was admittedly on Max’s side on this. The show was very good, Max himself was excellent, and it was a little bewildering that Robin was laughing so much.

But she was happy, and relaxed, and that’s all he could ask for.

He kissed the back of her head, and she snuggled even more against him. He wondered how likely it would be that he’ll be invited to sleep over. And then he thought he didn’t have condoms, and then he thought Max would definitely have some by the boxful.

Then he wondered if this was counted as a date, and if it was, how many dates does that make it now? What’s the done thing? Three dates? Would Robin need more? Does she subscribe to these social constructs?

His eyes were on the crook of her neck, wanting very much to kiss it, smelling so strongly of Narciso even this Sunday night. But it might be too intimate to do in front of Max, who was already eyeing them as though he doesn’t fully approve, and his boyfriend who Cormoran just met and whose name he’s already forgotten.

“Beer?” Max asked, but was already handing him one before he could answer. He specifically followed him to the fridge to say something, but now that he has his attention, he wasn’t sure what to say. So he just said, “Thanks. For the other night.”

“Don’t mention it. It was either that or you pass out on my stoop.”

“Er, yeah.” he said, embarrassed but he didn’t really mean driving him home. “Thanks for looking out for Robin.”

In this changed dynamic between him and Robin, he appreciated that she had a friend who was protective of her. Not that Robin couldn’t protect herself—

“Yeah, figured you were in no fit state to see her that night.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

Max clapped him on the back. “You’re alright, Strike. Just don’t hurt my friend, yeah? Literal angel on Earth, that one.”

“Yeah, she is.” Cormoran agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im team give robin friends
> 
> Up next: “I’m ready to try again.”


	8. December 8th, noon

“I’m ready to try again, mum.” said Robin earnestly, squeezing her mother’s hand as they have lunch in Oxford Street Monday afternoon.

Linda sighed as though resigned. “Well, can’t say I’m surprised. Your father and I had thought—and your brothers seemed convinced it was only a matter of time…”

“You all gossip about me, do you?” Robin asked, though without heat.

“We just worry,” said Linda. “With you all the way down here by yourself, working too hard.”

“I don’t work too hard,” Robin protested, resisting the urge to recoil from her mother’s hand on her face. “I’ve just spent Monday shopping with you.”

“Yes, because you worked all weekend, I bet.” Linda countered.

“It’s a business, mum. I’m a partner, I work whenever there’s work that needs doing.”

Linda smiled slightly then, “Well, getting yourself a bloke should distract you a bit.”

Robin laughed, feeling as though a heavy weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She had been expecting abject disapproval, so this was practically enthusiasm for Robin.

“Why don’t you invite Cormoran over for Christmas, love?” Linda suggested. “Be good to get to know him either way. We’d been meaning to invite him, though I suppose not this year with his aunt and everything…”

“Oh mum,” Robin said with a hint of a whine. She was hoping to do this over the phone. “I’m not coming up for Christmas this year.”

“Like hell you’re not!” Linda retorted sternly, taken aback. Robin has never spent Christmas away from home, but seeing as she’s thirty now maybe… “If it’s about Matthew—”

It was definitely about Matthew, but Robin denied it.

“If it’s about _work_ —” Linda was even more indignant at that.

“No, no!” Robin clarified, not wanting to give her mum any cause to rescind her interest in getting to know Cormoran better. She tried her luck at the truth then. “His wife’s had the baby.” she sighed, trying to sound sadder than what she truly felt, which was indifference. She just didn’t want to be stared at, didn’t want to run into Matthew or feel like she was making a statement every time she walked into town or refused a chance to do so.

“Oh, darling.” said her mother with an air of sympathy. And then added, “Tell you what. I’m going to try and see if Matthew and that… that…”

“His wife? And newborn?”

“I’ll try to find out if he’s coming home for the holidays and if he isn’t, you and Cormoran will come up.” she said decidedly.

“And if he’ll be there?” Robin asked, dreading the answer.

“It has been awhile since the family had Christmas in London. Might be a ball!”

Robin sighed, resigned to the very real possibility Cormoran will be subjected to her family either way. He’s met them before, but only as her boss. Now they’re partners. They’re even dating. But it might be a good idea, she considered. They can see how happy she is—working, being with Cormoran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a linda who isnt villainized! im feeling christmasy tonite lol
> 
> Up next: “This isn’t just about you.”


	9. December 9th, mid-afternoon

“This isn’t just about you!” Lucy was immediately cross on the phone when he tried telling his sister he won’t be coming with her family to Cornwall for Christmas.

“I didn’t say—” he started, but steeled himself, thinking Lucy was likely up to her neck in preparations (that nobody asked her to do) and all she’s asking of him was to show up. “It’s just I’ve spent too much time off—!”

It was the wrong thing to say.

“Because your aunt was dying!”

Cormoran winced at the high octave of Lucy’s voice.

“Can’t Ted come here?” he tried. Lucy would prefer to trap them all in Cornwall. In London, Christmas would be a dinner and they can go their merry ways.

“He wouldn’t want to come here!” Lucy insisted as though she knew it for a fact. “He’d want to be in Cornwall this first year, I think.”

Cormoran thought Ted could use a change of scenery, actually. “Actually, Luce,” he said, deciding for the first time. “Let’s bring Ted here. I’ll put him up--”

“No, he’ll stay here!” Lucy insisted.

“Yeah, okay. Fine. Let’s have Christmas in London this time. How’s that? Get him more used to coming here frequently for visits.”

“Oh, but Stick! You can’t just come over for _one_ dinner and then ignore—”

“I don’t ignore—!”

“Okay, you don’t ignore us. But it can’t just be _one_ thing.”

He sighed, exhausted now from this conversation. “Yeah, alright. We’ll go to—”

“Whose ‘we’?” Lucy asked, immediately picking up on his slip of the tongue. _Shit_. But then he thought Lucy would definitely like him better if he tells her about Robin.

“Er…” he waffled.

“Are you seeing someone, Stick?” Lucy’s voice was again an octave higher with excitement this time.

“Uh, yeah.” he said, and screwing his face as though bracing for impact, he said, “Robin.”

Lucy said a succession of things very quickly, none of which he caught, pulling is phone away from his ear. But she sounded excited, and he couldn’t help but sound excited at his sister’s excitement.

“Ted will be so chuffed to meet her!” said Lucy coherent again now. “And the boys, finally meeting their Aunt Rob—”

“Jesus, Lucy!” Cormoran protested. “Too soon for _that_!”

“Oh, please! You know you two are bound—”

“Lucy.” he said, voice clear and deep and stern. “Please don’t ask the boys to call her Aunt.”

“What should they call her, then?”

“Robin! I don’t know, Ms. Ellacott… anything but ‘aunt’, please Lucy. I beg you.”

Lucy laughed. Lucy laughs so rarely, Cormoran chuckled at the sound of it. “Okay, Stick. I’ll tell them to call her Miss Ellacott.”

“Great.” Cormoran agreed. “Got to go, Luce.”

“Okay,” said Lucy, sing-song and detached-sounding. “Bye Stick.”

“Bye.”

“Love you.” she said. Also rare.

Feeling affectionate towards his sister and glad that he had won some battles this time and that they were parting on unusually excellent terms for once, he said it back. “Yeah, you too.” Okay, sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: “Tell me I’m wrong.”


	10. December 10th, noon

“Tell me I’m wrong!” said Ilsa, rather dramatically slapping a copy of _The Guardian_ on his table as she blustered into his office. It was rare for Ilsa to visit Denmark Street at all, and by her distracted look around the inner office, Cormoran realised she’d never been back here.

Cormoran didn’t look at the paper, already knowing what Ilsa meant him to see. That day’s second biggest story on the paper was how Charlotte’s Lexus had been found, stripped for parts, at a property the Viscount owned.

“You’re wrong.” he said, just to annoy her. Ilsa’s mouth gaped and then she recovered, glaring.

“She did it herself.” Ilsa insisted. “All a big ploy to—”

“Win me back?” Cormoran tested. “By implicating me on an aggravated assault and theft charge?”

Ilsa rolled her eyes dramatically, slumping on Robin’s chair. “No, by getting you to save her like all those other times! How else was she only punched when she was literally naked and ripe for—”

“Alright, alright.” Cormoran interrupted. Far be it for him to defend Charlotte, but Ilsa really does go overboard when it’s Charlotte that’s being talked about. Ilsa will never say half the terrible things she wishes would happen to Charlotte about any other woman. Her current theory was that the fact that Charlotte was lucky enough to not have been raped was because she was mugged and carjacked by her own instruction.

The buzzing theory, however, that even the hard news section of _The Guardian_ didn’t shy away from, was the likelihood that Jago Ross orchestrated it in a bid to teach his wayward wife a lesson. His own name had been mercifully kept out of the papers this time, which was most surprising for Cormoran. It shows a restraint from Charlotte that he’s never encountered before. Which made him think she had been genuinely mugged.

He ought to care more, but he’s so done caring about Charlotte. The Met hasn’t followed up with him, which means they’re either building a case against him or he’s cleared. Either way, that’s a future problem, his mind on the first proper date he’ll be having with Robin tomorrow since they first kissed last week. He strongly suspected sex will be on the table, and it’s very difficult to concentrate on anything else.

He recoiled when he felt a crumpled piece of paper thrown at his face.

“Tch!” he said, throwing it right back at Ilsa, hitting her also in the face.

“Where’s Robin?” she asked.

“Oxfordshire with Barclay.”

“You know,” Ilsa started, spinning in Robin’s chair. “There’s this new Junior Partner at our firm asking about her.”

“Yeah?”

“Saw her on my Facebook. I think he might’ve messaged her. Told me he’ll try.”

Ilsa’s new strategy was to make Cormoran jealous enough ask Robin out himself.

“Best of luck to him.”

“Don’t you care?” Ilsa asked, incredulous.

Cormoran sighed, play-acting. “She’s already seeing someone.”

“What!” Ilsa asked, wide-eyed and stunned. “Who?”

Cracking a wide grin, he said, “Me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: "You're trembling!"


	11. December 11th, early evening

“You’re trembling!” Robin exclaimed, lifting Wolfgang up who greeted them with an energy that was not like his usual excitement. “What’s wrong?”

“Shh.” said Cormoran, looking up at the ceiling, pointer finger to his lips.

“What is it?” Robin asked, stopping to hear better what Cormoran was hearing. Nothing. Wolfgang was wriggling so much in her arms, she couldn’t concentrate.

“Stay here.”

Before Robin could protest, Cormoran was bounding for the second floor. Clear sounds of a scuffle. Robin gasps, putting the dog down and running up after him.

A shriek.

“Don’t—!” Cormoran exclaims, large arms wrapped around a tiny young woman who seemed to be trying to squirm away from his grip.

“Oh my—!” Robin yelps, wide-eyed.

“Robin, there’s—!”

Robin sees her. A second one, small and thin and young too like the woman Cormoran was gripping. She was running straight at Robin who was still by the staircase, she steps out just in time, just on instinct to prevent the woman from tackling her down the stairs. Robin tries to grab her before she skids head-first down the stairs but too late.

“No!” the woman in Cormoran’s tight grip yells. She’s sobbing now. Robin rushes downstairs to check on the intruder. She groans. From this close up Robin sees that she looks very young. Maybe in her teens.

They called themselves ‘Priestesses’. Young, ardent Max Priestwood fans who just wanted to set up his outdoor garden with fairy lights and Christmas ornaments to make him happy. Something about him saying it was a cherished memory on a _Telegraph_ interview. The young woman who fell down the stairs only suffered minor bruises. The wriggly one Cormoran caught gave herself a fractured rib, though.

“You okay?” Cormoran asked Robin, who was snuggled against him on his bed, wearing one of his undershirts.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked, looking up his face.

“Your flat was just broken into.”

“Oh.” said Robin, who had been startled but didn’t really think she was in any real danger with Cormoran with her. But this brought to her another thought. “He’s only going to get more popular, isn’t he? Max?”

Cormoran shrugged, but thought it likely. There were posters for his show bearing his face on the side of buses now. “I grant you, it is an odd choice of roommate for a detective.”

Robin smiled, propping herself up against Cormoran’s chest. “You know, I have been thinking of moving out.”

“Yeah?” Cormoran asked, hand up and down her back now. Then with a curious look he said, “What about here?”

Robin stilled, stunned by the proposition. Way too soon.

“Er, I meant, you live here. I would be living elsewhere.”

Robin pulled off him, sitting properly. He sat up, too.

“You’re planning to move?”

“Might’ve been looking.” he admitted. Turning 40 a few weeks ago threw him for a loop.

Robin looked around the room, already decorating it in her mind.

Then looking at him, she asked. “So when are you moving out?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: “Please talk to me.”


	12. December 12th, first thing

“Please talk to me,” Robin kissed at Cormoran’s stubbly jaw when she woke up in his bed that Friday morning.

“I’m fine.” he insisted, embarrassed still and would like nothing more than for her to stop focusing on him. And last night. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he hears her say—

“It’s perfectly norm—”

He twisted to sit up, back to her now.

Robin grunted disapproval, sitting up now too. Annoyed about men and their fragile egos.

Then Cormoran turned around just as she was about to shift off the bed.

“It isn’t—” he started. “It isn’t about you.”

Robin smiled, a little smugly. And Cormoran found her so sexy with her hair tousled in nothing but his t-shirt and knickers that it made him even angrier at his prick for not doing the one thing it was built for last night.

What a bloody effin’ let down. Years of build up he was a no-show.

“I know.” said Robin in a self-assured way that he hasn’t yet seen. Then she crawls to him, draping her arms over his shoulders, kissing his cheek. “You don’t have to feel bad.” she shrugged. “Sometimes it just doesn’t happen. I get it.”

“What are you doing with me, Robin?”

Robin pulled her head away from his, holding him at arm’s length, looking bewildered. “What?!”

He seemed to gesture to himself. “Look at me, I’m old and battered—”

Her eyes narrowed, looking offended. “You think I’m that shallow?”

“No—!” Cormoran tried to back track, reaching out for her but she’d hopped off the bed. “I just—”

He didn’t know where this was coming from, except that this has _never_ happened to him before. His soldier had always been ready and willing when called to arms. Some might say overager when his eyes wandered over to particularly nice bums.

“Come back here, please.” He half-pleaded. She stared at him before relenting and by the time she was within his reach, she was once again kind and amorous.

Standing in front of him, she cupped his face in her gentle hands. Bending her face to give him the lightest of kisses.

“I chose you, Cormoran.” she said, feeling suddenly overwhelmingly vulnerable in making this admission this early in a week-long, as-yet consummated romance. She’d been choosing him since the moment they met.

He pulled her face down gently to kiss her. Slow at first, and then building, growing.

Robin pulled away, panting to catch her breath, mouth and eyes slack just looking at his face as she pulled off the shirt she was wearing before kissing him again, fiercer this time, legs straddling his lap, feeling finally what they both had been waiting for last night.

When Cormoran rolled off her, Robin thought the sex had been good. All parts worked, both reached their destination. What else is there? Silly, really, to think fireworks.

He pulled her against him and she smiled thinking, if things are good it can mean it only gets better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one of my headcanons is that corm is an arse man
> 
> Up next: “I can’t wait any longer.”


	13. December 13th, afternoon (delight)

“I can’t wait any longer!” Robin half whined, barging inside his attic flat’s bathroom where he was still trying to muss his hair, or do something—anything—to make him feel more used to the obtrusion now resting on his face.

Robin’s eyes grew wide, an extreme gasp on her face.

He rolled his eyes.

Her expression settled to a smile, fingers on his shoulder. “Let me see,” pulling for him to face her.

She put both her arms on his shoulders, fingers softly raking through his air. It feels so good for Robin to do that, for Robin to be here. Like this. With him.

“I think it becomes you.” she whispers, mouth ghosting over his. She presses the lightest of kisses on his upper lip. It tickled, making him twitch to a smile.

“Yeah? Don’t think it makes me look like a hipster dickhead?”

It does, actually. But Robin found him sexy with his thick rimmed glasses anyway. Stylish in a modern way she usually wouldn’t associate him with.

She lifted her arms off from his shoulder, taking his hand backing into his apartment as she pulled him with her. She only stopped when she felt the kitchen counter against her bum. She hopped on it, pulling him to stand between her legs.

“Oh?” Cormoran asked, intrigued. Pushing the memory of someone else seducing him in this area of his flat nearly two weeks ago. This is better. Far, far better. Wanted.

Robin only replied with a sly smile, eyes on his (now behind glasses) as she pulled off his belt.

Robin could only whimper and pant and thrust to meet the delicious cadence of Cormoran’s hips. She’s never—

It’s always been—

Bed—

Back—

“Oh g-god,” she sobs, and feels Cormoran’s lips against her sweaty temple.

He is whispering, a soft litany of secrets and promises, maybe. Beautiful words her blissed-out brain couldn’t comprehend. Wanting only more. Only everything. Only “Jeez—!”

She drops her legs from being wrapped around him, quivering so hard she felt as though she would melt onto the floor.

But, “I got you,” he whispers, mouth still against her temple. Sturdy and solid as she feels boneless in the aftermath.

He would finish by his own hand, Robin kissing his shoulder, still sat at his kitchen counter that now would need a good scrubbing.

They got carried away--an understatement—but this was good to know about her. A key piece of evidence in the case he was building to prove that Robin Ellacott, was—in fact— sublime.

“We can go catch a movie.” she suggested, zipping up her fly, walking out of the bathroom.

“No,” Cormoran argued, handing her a sponge. “We’re scrubbing my kitchen.”

“You mean _my_ kitchen.” she reminded him. Looking around the flat again, excited to have this tiny space all to herself.

“Got my eye on a few places,” said Cormoran. “Want to see them with me?”

“Sure.”

When they were done, he’s perched her on the counter again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’ve seen Holliday’s movie, Animals, it is my headcanon that Robin is 100% Laura in the sheets. Lol.
> 
> Up next: “Could we start over?”


	14. December 14th, ten-ish

“Could we start over?”

Charlotte Campbell had rolled up her street, in a chauffeured Mercedes Benz now looking somber and striking, her eye still visibly purple.

Such was Robin’s distrust of her, borne from stories from Ilsa and Cormoran, that she wondered if it was makeup that was still making her look bruised. She’d been elbowed to the face a few months back and a week later, her face had completely healed.

She felt guilty thinking this, whether she was currently exaggerating her injuries didn’t take from the fact that she had been injured. She had suffered a violent punch to the face, that had been real. She’d seen it up close.

She wanted to turn her away, but she didn’t have a good reason other than Cormoran definitely would’ve told her to, and somehow she didn’t want Charlotte to think she did anything just because Cormoran said so.

So she invited her inside Max’s flat and the first thing Charlotte did after thanking her for the tea was smile and say, “Gosh, you’re beautiful.”

She remembered answering the phone to her last year, how Charlotte managed to worm herself into her thoughts through that tiny exchange. Robin thought of femme fatales. Women whose superpower it was to wrap men around their fingers and wound and hurt them while making other women feel insignificant by comparison.

“How can I help, Mrs. Ross?” Robin asked, her words calculated to impress upon Charlotte she will only do business, remind her she’s married.

Charlotte smiled at her still, looking sad. “And kind, aren’t you?” she said almost wistfully. “I can see why Bluey’s smitten.”

Robin remembered being on the phone expecting Cormoran and hearing a woman who had called him ‘Cormy Wormy’. In that instance, Robin had been revolted. On this, she was envious. Furious, too, at this other woman calling him something that sounds from her tongue so intimate.

“But there’s no helping me anymore, Robin.”

That took her aback.

“I’m already lost.” said Charlotte, looking away from her then. “He did this, you know.”

Robin didn’t need her to explain that Charlotte meant her injury and her husband.

“If—if it’s help, there are women’s groups, lawyers—” Robin suggested, because that was the only thing that came to her.

Charlotte only laughed. Her expression suddenly light as though Robin had said a genuinely hilarious joke. Robin hated it. Hated feeling as though patronised, infantilised.

Charlotte reached out her slender hands and Robin jerked before her palm had cupped her face. “Sorry,” Charlotte apologised. Robin was now glaring at her.

“I only came to see if you could pass along a message to Bluey for me.”

Robin stared Charlotte down, trying to calm her heartbeat for it was beating a mile a minute. On bated breath. But she didn’t respond. She was being played with. Charlotte was making her feel as though secretary who had allowed herself seduced by the boss.

“Will you tell him I said… goodbye?”

Robin knotted her eyebrows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually kind of regret this turned into a charlotte fic but too late now lol
> 
> Up next: “What took you so long?”


	15. December 15th, too early

“What took you so long?” Cormoran scowled as Shanker sat on the seat opposite him.

Shanker looked incensed. “Got a life, don’t I Bunsen? And it’s also you that’s always late half the—”

“Yeah, alright.” Cormoran acquiesced, not because he agreed but because he had matters to discuss with Shanker. “What do you have for me?”

“It’s him. The poncy Viscount like you said.”

“Christ. Proof?”

“Them thugs that did it, its their MO. They’re car nabbers for hire.”

“Names?”

Shanker expelled a long breath as though weighing his options. That was new. Shanker’s moral compass was always pointed at the highest bidder. “They’re kids, Bunsen. Hard up in life, needs to make ends meet.”

Cormoran blinked at Shanker, incredulous. “What the fuck?” Aliens descending from the heavens on flying saucers would’ve been more likely than this show of conscience from Shanker.

Shanker only shrugged, not looking at Cormoran.

Just like last year, Shanker arrived with bags of shopping. From the tops of the plastic Cormoran had noticed pink boxes. And then he noticed other things about Shanker. Like how he curiously was wearing a neat button down shirt under his jacket that was not unlike the one Cormoran was wearing. Or how the many rings around his fingers seem now to include a gold band on his ring finger.

Distracted now from Cormoran’s purpose of knowing if Jago Ross hired people to harm Charlotte, he asked, “Shanker, did you get married?”

The man cracked a smile half-laughing. “The detective finally noticed, did he?”

“Shit! Really?”

“Over a year now, ye fucker. Detective my arse!” he shook his head, holding up his ring finger as though flipping Cormoran off. “Been wearing this all year and you didn’t notice—!”

“Jesus, Shanker!” Cormoran was stunned and confused, if he was being honest. He clapped his friend on the back. “You should’ve said!”

Shanker sniggered. “And have a detective show up at my wedding? Nah, but if you’re feeling generous, I could do with a pint.”

So Cormoran ordered them pints even though it was way too early that Monday morning for a drink.

“Who’d have thought, eh?” Shanker asked him over their half-drunk pints. “Me, married with two daughters. You, single and alone.”

Strike chuckled. “I’m not too alone these days, actually.” he said, thinking of Robin. Excited to tell her Shanker’s happy news. She’d like this, he thought.

“Good for you, mate.” Shanker clapped him on the back. And then, “What d’you think Leda would make of the pair of us?”

“Dunno,” Cormoran shrugged. “Proud, I hope.” he chuckled at the irony. It was hard to imagine Leda proud of one son that’s very Ted like, and another that’s a straight-up criminal. She would find the pair of them amusing though. He knew that much. But Shanker seemed chuffed at the idea that Leda would’ve been proud.

“Who was it, then?” Shanker asked. “That was carjacked. Why are you asking, Bunsen?”

“No one important.” Cormoran replied, knowing it was the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *oprah voice*  
> to robin: You get happiness!  
> to cormoran: You get happiness!  
> to shanker: You get happiness!
> 
> Up next: “Stay with me.”


	16. December 16th, evening

“Stay with me,” said Cormoran, a light kiss on Robin’s nape making her giggle. She took a quick glance at the closed inner office door, feeling a little anxious that one of their employees might suddenly walk in and find the boss on the other boss’s lap even though it was near seven and they weren’t expecting anyone.

Robin supposed that she was being seduced. Leaning into Cormoran trailing open mouthed kisses against her neck, his large hands creeping up the skin of her torso under her jumper. They will need to set boundaries. No funny business at the office, definitely. _Oh, but this is so nice, though…_

“I leave in an hour.” she reminded him and he groaned petulantly, resting his chin on her shoulder. She cupped his cheek and buried her face in his hair that was soft and smelled of shampoo.

“I can come with you. We haven’t done surveillance together in awhile.” he suggested, angling his face for a kiss. Robin bit her lip from grinning too madly, feeling tingly and happy and excited that this was the sort of lover he was. Tactile and amorous. She kissed him. Light fingers brushing his cheek just because. “You need sleep.”

He shrugged. “I’ll sleep in the car.”

“Hm.” Robin thought. Tempting proposition, but she figured he’d only be a distraction and they’ll kick themselves if this costs them this case that they were one money shot away from closing.

“How about,” she continued, an idea coming to her. “I come back here as soon as I get the goods on Mr. Grimace?”

She was back well before midnight, triumphant and amused that the guy they were watching was too horny to wait until getting inside the house before groping at his mistress. She got a good many photos, exhilarated at her job well done and excited to have an early night.

She arrived at Denmark Street to find Cormoran’s flat empty, though.

She rang him. No signs of it here, nor downstairs at the office. Weird.

She headed for the Tottenham, thinking maybe he went there for a pint, although why wouldn’t he answer his phone.

Not at the Tottenham. She even asked the bartender if Cormoran had been around that night and was told no.

She realised she was at a loss over where he could’ve gone when they had discussed she was coming back as soon as she wrapped up the Grimace case. Did he think she was going to be longer and stepped out to do something else? But that didn’t explain him not answering his phone.

There was an odd sensation creeping on her now. Inexplicable unease even though there must be some reasonable explanation.

She tried ringing him again. No answer. She knew the third time, the call will only route to the office number, but she tried anyway. No answer.

Her feet was leading her to her station, intending now to head home even though her gut tells her something’s wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming December 17, 2021: “Is this necessary?”


	17. December 17th, long day

_“Is this necessary?”_

Cormoran heard the squeaking and soft closing of a door, felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, his eyes fluttering awake and adjusting to the harsh lights.

He slowly turned his head to the left, sensing there was a person by his bedside. If he had any energy, he would’ve reacted with more surprise.

“Whut’re ya doin’ h’r?” he sighed, voice thick with grogginess.

Adam blinked at him before bending to plant a kiss on his temple. Cormoran, whose mind was mush, thought that was quite nice. And then saw that the boy had bit his quivering bottom lip and started sniveling, free hand wiping the hot tears flowing down his reddened cheeks.

Cormoran tried to lift a hand to pat him on the head somehow, but his limb felt laden just then. All of him felt heavy. His torso throbbing with dull pain he knew was likely numbed by painkiller. He’s not sure of the extent of his own damage and hoped he hadn’t just had surgery. He’d be out of commission for weeks!

“Wh—” he tried. “Wh’re’s Luce...” he asked the nine-year-old who was sniffling and heaving from the fierce sobs he was trying to control.

“You—” Adam started. “You’re all beat up, Uncle!”

He knew that much. But that Adam was left alone with him at all told Cormoran his injuries probably looked worse than it was. Adam was the picture of Lucy at that age. Round-faced, red-cheeked, blonde. Lucy also bit her lip before she started crying as a child.

And then, with the dramatic flair of a despairing widow, Adam threw himself over his torso—making him grunt at the impact—and wailed so loudly Cormoran wondered if perhaps he had actually died.

But this was helpful, because the door burst open and in came Lucy, Nick, and a doctor who all sighed with relief upon sight of him awake before rushing to get distraught Adam off him.

Nick chuckled in a way that released some sort of tension. “Thought you snuffed it, mate.”

“Oh, Stick!” Lucy exclaimed, hand cupping cheek.

“Rob’n?” he asked. The only thing he wanted to know.

“With Ilsa at New Scotland Yard. They should be back here in a bit.” said Nick.

“Wh…” he tried. “Wh— happen’d?”

“I went to Holland Park Avenue around 1 in the morning.” Robin started, inured now to making police statements but she felt right now despondent with worry.

“To meet with Mrs. Ross?” asked DI Gunmar, a cop she’s never met.

“To ask her if she’d seen Cormoran last night.” Robin replied. “And then I asked her to tell me what happened to her early December 3rd in case what happened to her happened to Cormoran. She took me—”

“She went with you?”

“Yes.” said Robin. “She took me to where the carjackers got in her car when she stopped for a light, and then the alley where they left her. That’s where we found him—” her voice quivered. “Unconscious.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking of abandoning this and revisiting it for next year, but I think I'm just going to post for as long as I have something to post :P 
> 
> Also, Adam is not a little prick. It is my headcanon that he's a cutie and his uncle needs to give him a chance lol. (None for Luke. He's an arsehole nightmare.)
> 
> Up next: “You’re so warm.”


	18. December 18th, two in the afternoon

“You’re so warm still,” Lucy pointed out, trying to press her palm to her brother’s face that was doing his best to recoil from her touch. “Why are they discharging you?”

“Because I’m fine, Lucy. Get off!” Cormoran complained, wondering how Lucy with his three sons and needy husband and even ageing Uncle, insists on smothering her highly-independent brother as well.

“Well I think you should sue!” said Lucy. “Can’t believe she— after all these years!”

Cormoran didn’t react. Ilsa and Robin had told him and Nick, within Lucy’s hearing, that what happened to Charlotte was done to Cormoran, which proved to the detectives that 1) Charlotte had nothing to do with it and 2) it was Jago Ross that was behind the attacks. Ilsa and Lucy were not convinced, thinking this is somehow Charlotte’s fault.

“Otherwise, why did she only get _one_ punch—” Lucy repeated once again. This has been her repeating argument since yesterday. “—and you got beaten up! Oh, Stick!”

She sounded distressed again, and Cormoran felt Lucy wrap her arms around his midsection (pressing on his bruises) the same way she did when they were teens and she was terrified over something or other.

Cormoran didn’t fight it and only sighed, turning in her hold to return her hug. He can’t remember the last time they hugged. They weren’t particularly adverse to hugging as they were raised in Leda’s hugs and open adoration, but they rarely hugged each other. Perhaps because whenever they do, it was always in response to trauma or tragedy, like this time.

“I’m fine, Luce.” he repeated for the nth time. “I’m starting to think I’m unkillable.” he joked. Lucy pulled away from him to glare.

“Where’s Robin?” she asked, sounding stern and critical that Robin wasn’t there as he was being discharged.

“Working. Where else would she—”

“Working?!”

“I asked her to. Who’ll run the place otherwise?”

“Honestly, you two! Haven’t you heard of work-life balance, Stick?”

“Dunno, Luce.” he said sarcastically. “Working at 2 PM on a Thursday sounds pretty balanced.”

“Ha, ha.” and then she said somberly, “She needs to be put away, Stick.”

He knew she meant Charlotte.

“They tried that just this year. You saw—”

But graver still Lucy continued. “Not in a hospital. Prison. Like that place, Broadmoor.”

Cormoran laughed. “Broad—”

“I mean it. She deserves it.”

Cormoran was still chuckling. “They don’t put tricky exes in hospitals for the criminally—” He turned to Lucy, surprised to find her stony face, hot tear down her cheeks. “Jesus, Lucy!” Cormoran exclaimed, tired that Lucy was this way about Charlotte. “She isn’t—”

“Oh isn’t she? After everything she put you through?”

Lucy didn’t even know the half of it, but Cormoran who had the full picture knew Charlotte’s evil was nothing to Dennis Creed and his ilk.

Cormoran wished he called Pat to pick him up instead.

They sat in silence.

At last Lucy asked, “What if she comes for Robin next, Stick? What will you do then?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming December 19, 2021 (for reals): “I’m still awake.”


End file.
